


Live like you're dying (one more time)

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Bleach
Genre: All canon events still occurred, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit description of Kisuke’s time in the Onmitsukidō, Fullbring arc, M/M, UraIchi Week 2018, Warning for flashbacks to and mentions of traumatic past deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: “According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” – The Symposium, PlatoOn your seventeenth birthday, your soul finishes maturing, and you gain the memories of your past lives, as well the ability to recognise – and be recognised by – your soulmate.If life works out, you will always be able to find your soulmate.Key phrase being:if life works out.Urahara Kisuke has planned for every eventuality -- except for Kurosaki Ichigo.





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, Kisuke should have known.

His soulmate has always been the unpredictable one.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Souls in Rukongai don’t have birthdays.

All his life, Kisuke’s never thought much about soulmates. Sure, everybody’s got one – from the lowest Rukongai street rat to the highest of nobles. And sometimes, those nobles get matched with the street rats. Been there, seen that, assassinated the street rat and their whole family on orders.

So, no. He doesn’t put much stock into the concept of soulmates. He’s too busy clawing his way up the Onmitsukidō hierarchy to worry about something like _predestination_ , anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Onmitsukidō don’t normally work in teams. They’re assassins, and they operate best solo.

This mission is a perfect example of why.

He doesn’t know which of the greenies fucked up, but the base is on highest alert – which he wouldn’t even have known about, if he didn’t stumble over the corpse hastily shoved into that storage room.

Blood.

The faint metallic tang almost makes him gag, although he should be used to it by now. But somehow –

_The shriek of steel, the frightened whinny of a horse._

_Blood. So much b l o o d –_

Kisuke scrambles out of the storage room, a hand pressed to his chest.

What… just happened?

He shoves the thought aside.

There’s a mission to complete, and if he doesn’t pay attention, he’s going to end up dead.

The targets are stirred up. Guards march through the corridors, and unlike before now they’re actively doing their jobs, peering behind ornamental tapestries and into unused sitting rooms. A few of them even routinely scan the ceiling.

Kisuke sees another one of them get caught, completely unprepared for this sudden heightened security. He chews his lips, braces himself better against the uncomfortable wooden beam serving as his surveillance perch of the night, and steels his heart.

The other ninja doesn’t stop screaming until dawn.

And then he does.

Servants talk. That’s how Kisuke learns that most of the others have completed their assigned tasks, that there are only two targets left out of the original twelve. Possibly the only good news is that they’re husband and wife, and so if he’s careful he can take both out in one go.

It’s impossible to get into their bedroom. There’s a pair of samurai in the room at all times, six others in the corridor, and another one standing guard on the balcony. One of the greenies must’ve been discovered while scaling the windows, and now the targets know to watch out for ninja.

Great.

Kisuke eases back onto the roof before he gets spotted.

He can take out the guard, no problem – may even manage the two in the room, but the targets are on high alert and a single sound will have them bolting out of bed, swords in hand. He’s good, but he can’t fight off a whole room of guards at the same time, so even if he does complete the mission he’s not walking out of this alive.

He doesn’t know why this makes him hesitate.

_I’m so sorry._

It’s his voice, but he doesn’t remember the context. He _never_ apologises, not even to Yoruichi-san.

_Please… wait for me._

For what?

Kisuke’s sure he’s never said those words before in his life, and yet they taste like… memories?

Wait, _memories_?

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He knows what’s going on now.

He’s now, apparently, 170 years old, and fate has seen fit to grace him with the memories of his past lives. It’s… it’s a well-documented phenomenon, he knows. Kisuke just never thought it’ll happen to him.

(He’s an assassin. He’s good at his job, one of the best, but it just takes a single slip, a single iota of bad luck, and his life is forfeit. He certainly never expected to _live_ until he’s one-seventy.)

Now, if he remembers his research right, the memories will start coming in faster. Kisuke rapidly takes stock of his surroundings. He’s managed to set up a little nest for himself, using a cloth drape to disguise himself as part of the roof.

His hands close on the last two ration bars he’s got tucked away.

It usually takes three to five days for the bulk of the memories to come through. He certainly can’t work like this – he’s lucky that the last two flashbacks hadn’t given him away to the guards, but he can’t count on that to last. Better to hole up where it’s relatively safe and wait out the worst of the storm first.

Who knows, maybe his previous lives would even give some insight into how to tackle his current problem.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He opens his eyes, and the world has changed.

Or maybe the world’s still the same, but it’s him who has changed.

The first thing he notices is that it’s raining.

Kisuke barks out a laugh.

How fitting.

His soulmate has always _hated_ the rain.

He closes his eyes again. There’s no one on the roof with him, he can immediately tell; no one watching his section of the roof either. Of course not. Even as a _child_ he could pick a proper perch.

Kisuke sits up.

The rain soaks into his hair immediately, dripping down into his clothes, sending rivulets into his socks. He drags a hand through his hair, getting the worst of it out of his face. There’s a stubborn strand flopping limply onto his nose that refuses to budge, and he idly considers getting hairclips.

No matter.

A quick survey tells him that nothing has changed in the past few days, that the security hasn’t laxed despite the lack of new attempts, that the targets still slept in the room with two armed and alert guards at all times.

Smart.

But not smart enough.

The targets are guarded and armed to the teeth, but the retinue of guards follows them during the daytime. There’s a lapse of at least thirty minutes between the time their servants lay out the bedding, and the time they come to bed.

Kisuke ducks into the room through the balcony – this side of the house faces nothing but forest, another mistake – and it’s the work of a few minutes to dust the pillows with poison, to smear the last dredges of the vial against the wall where the guards will stand.

He gets back onto the roof.

The guard on the balcony sees his compatriots fall, but he gets a knife to the throat before he can raise the alarm. Kisuke hops onto the balcony, watching silently, until he’s sure the targets are dead.

Mission accomplished.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“I want to resign.”

Yoruichi _laughs_ , like that’s the best joke she’s heard in years. It could very well be; the Onmitsukidō’s not exactly a place that induces mirth.

Kisuke waits.

Gradually, her laughter tapers off.

“You’re serious.”

He considers his choice of words. “Deadly,” he finally says. They’ve known each other for long enough that she doesn’t take that the wrong way, but still –

“You can’t resign from the Onmitsukidō,” she responds, but they both know it’s something he already knows, that she’s just saying it for lack of any better reply.

Been there, seen that, dealt with the deserters.

There’s only one way out of the Onmitsukidō, and it involves a body bag.

“Kisuke, I –” she must see something in his expression, for she abandons all her arguments. “Did something happen?”

He’s thought about how he’ll answer this question, the whole trek back to Seireitei. He’s considered all the options.

_“There’s someone I’m waiting for.”_

_“I turned 170 during the mission, and it’s what kept me going when the whole thing went FUBAR.”_

_“I want to live long enough to meet my soulmate in_ this _lifetime.”_

“I find that… I am no longer so eager to court death as before.” It’s what he finally settles on, and as expected Yoruichi picks up on the words left unspoken, just as he knew she would.

“I can’t let you go,” she tells him, with a touch of regret in her tone, the equivalent of a full formal apology from anyone else. “But I know you, Kisuke. Lay your counteroffer on me.”

Sometimes, even he forgets how brilliant Yoruichi can be, how quick she can pick up everything that’s left unsaid.

Sometimes, the child he had been had idly wondered if _she_ is his soulmate, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

That childhood crush fizzled away in a shower of sparks, in a scatter of raindrops, that moment when he opened his eyes on a roof in the middle of a Rukongai district. He knows now, with the clarity of hindsight, that she definitely isn’t. That there’s someone even _better_ , and he’ll meet xem someday – if he stays alive long enough.

She doesn’t yet understand, he can tell. But she’s going to let him do it anyway.

Kisuke has made sure of that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Years later, when they’re on the run from Soul Society, and it’s their turn to dodge the Onmitsukidō, Yoruichi comes to him one night.

“I understand now,” she says, and he can see that she did, see the aged wisdom shining through in her golden gaze.

Kisuke nods, and turns away.

He hasn’t expected Aizen, the Hollowfication – any of it. Maybe he’s losing his touch. Maybe he’s getting too old; maybe he should give it up, and wait for the next reincarnation cycle –

No.

No, he shouldn’t think that way.

Stick to the plan.

Exile, he can handle. Losing his job, his friends, his home, he can handle. There’s something, some _one_ far more important to him.

He just needs to _live_ long enough to see it happen.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He thinks of his soulmate, imagines xem going through the Academy, cannon fodder ripe for the culling by a madman determined to play executioner and saviour both. He thinks of barriers deliberately sabotaged to fail, of Academy students lost every year to Hollow attacks, of a Gotei blinded by Aizen’s honeyed lies. He thinks of captains so mired by deference, so entrenched in their traditions that they can or will no longer stand up for what is _right_.

Aizen’s idea of a perfect world isn’t one that Kisuke wants his soulmate to be born into.

He sits down, and he starts to plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“How much longer?”

Kisuke slants Shinji a Look.

Shinji takes another swig of his sake, twirling his cap idly on one finger. It’s a recent acquisition, Kisuke thinks. He hasn’t seen it before.

“Don’t play coy with me, Kisuke,” he warns.

Well, if he insists. “Why do you want to know, Hirako-san?”

Shinji tips his head to the side.

The cap stills.

“You’re a good man, Kisuke.” Shinji looks at him, and expression isn’t unlike what he’d worn a century ago, lying on the ground frothing at the mouth, knowing Kisuke was the only thing standing between his friends and insanity.

Kisuke breaks eye contact first. “Hirako-san…”

He’s never told anyone but Yoruichi before, although he’s sure many of the Visoreds must have guessed by now. He hides his own awkwardness better now, under a bucket hat with a fan to shield his lips, but they’ve all known him for far too long.

There’s no one around him, no one in his life at all who approaches him with the sort of familiar ease, the sort of instinctive trust a soulmate would have.

He’s sure they’ve all wondered why. All soulmates are originally born on the selfsame day, back in their first lifetime, so even with the unpredictability of fate, large age gaps are rare.

Kisuke’s three hundred and forty-six years old.

He knows that Yoruichi thinks he’s already missed his soulmate in this lifetime, that they’ve probably fallen victim to starvation or one of Aizen’s plots before reaching that magical 170.

Kisuke knows better.

“Xe should be born soon,” he admits, and only then realises this is the first time he’s ever said it out loud.

He knows it must be true. His soulmate’s not one to give up hope, to end xeir life when it becomes increasingly clear that Kisuke isn’t coming. Xe would’ve lived every life to the fullest each time.

Shinji nods, as if that’s what he already expected to hear. “Aizen’s probably going to make a move soon,” he cautions.

Kisuke doesn’t blink at the non-sequitur.

After another moment with no response forthcoming, Shinji huffs out a breath. “Tell me, Kisuke. From the moment you’ve known about Aizen and all this – what’s the worst case scenario, and how do we fix it?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Truth be told, his plans all seem doomed for failure – until the firstborn son of Kurosaki Masaki and Shiba Isshin drew his first squalling breath, and every Hollow in a hundred-metre radius descended upon the labour ward like a swarm of starving locusts.

Kisuke leaps out of the window, Benihime in hand, but even as he slashes through mask after mask his mind’s already whirring, discarding old plans and coming up with new ones.

His plans flicker and realign. He adjusts them once, when he realises the child can’t differentiate between the living and the dead – spirits aren’t just shimmers or outlines to him, they’re completely _solid_.

Adjusts them again, when the boy’s mother dies.

He hates this, he can admit in the recesses of his mind. It’s one of his faults that his soulmate has often complained about, that Kisuke’s genius sometimes precludes him from seeing people as _people_.

But Aizen’s amassing his power, subtly weakening the Gotei’s very foundations, and Kisuke’s the only one who can do something about it.

He hopes his soulmate will forgive him. He’s not sure he can forgive himself.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Because of you, I had a weird dream.”_

_“A weird dream? Ah, Masaki, our beautiful son is having soulmate dreams!”_

_“Just hurry up and fall already!”_

Ichigo scowls at the reminder, kicking at a stray stone.

Truth be said, he’s almost forgotten. So that’s why his classmates have been in such a tizzy lately. They’re all turning seventeen, one by one, and receiving the memories of their past lives.

Ichigo doesn’t really care about that sort of thing. After gods and monsters and afterlives and immortals, something as mundane as soulmates seems… dull in comparison. Even if they’ve shared a couple of lives before, so what? Either xe’s going to be a reiatsu-blind civilian who’ll have Ichigo committed at the idea of shinigami and Hollow, or xe’s going to be a shinigami and Ichigo won’t be able to see xem anyway.

Or worse, it’s going to be one of his human friends, and Ichigo can’t imagine _that_ ending in anything but awkwardness all around.

At least Karin and Yuzu will be spared all this drama. Being twins, they’re definitely soulmates. Only time will tell whether they’re newly-created, or whether they managed to get reincarnated together.

Ichigo shakes his head to dispel those thoughts, stepping into the classroom.

None of that matters anyway. He’s got something more important now.

For the first time in seventeen months, he feels _useful_ again, and he’s not going to give that up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_“Just how much do you know about that Urahara that makes you think you understand him?”_

“What’s the matter?”

Ichigo shakes his head.

“No,” he mouths to himself. _No, it can’t be –_

He knows that voice. He knows the sound of those clogs.

“No, it’s nothing. Let’s go someplace else.”

What… what are they doing, past midnight? Why are they meeting on a street corner like this? Why isn’t Goat-Face home, with his sisters?

“Why?”

If he didn’t know them, he’d have said this looks – and sounds – like an illegal underground deal.

“Just in case.”

But Ichigo _does_ know them (he thinks), and so he knows that whatever it looks like, it’s probably far, far worse than that.

Urahara is silent for a long while, long enough that Ichigo wonders if they’ve picked up on his presence after all.

“I see. Let’s do that.”

He’s forgotten.

No, rather, so many things happened at the same time that he’s tried to erase it from his mind, but it all comes flooding back now.

Should he chase after him and ask him?

Ichigo’s tempted, honestly tempted for a second.

_I can’t believe you – are you with me, or are you against me?_

But no, what if Urahara’s really his enemy? Can he even do anything against him, the way he is right now?

_There’s no way I can raise a sword against you!_

Ichigo shakes his head. Well, he supposes that’s true, though that’s not how he’ll phrase it –

Oh fuck.

It’s past midnight, which makes it the fifteenth of July.

Any thought of chasing them down, of demanding answers, vanishes from his mind.

Those aren’t just intrusive thoughts.

They’re _memories_.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Goat-Face doesn’t wake him up the next morning.

Ichigo’s glad.

He doesn’t know what he would have said, doesn’t know how he would have acted, but he’s sure anyone who knows him can tell in a second.

He dresses in silence.

Traditionally, students can take the day of their seventeenth birthday off from school if they want to.

Ichigo snags his usual lunch bento from the fridge, bites down on a piece of toast, and sets off for school.

Keigo’s so stunned, he actually forgets to jump on Ichigo. “You’re not taking the day off?” he demands.

Ichigo lifts up a shoulder in a half-shrug.

“Lay off him today, Keigo.” Mizuiro puts a hand on his soulmate’s shoulder, peering into Ichigo’s eyes. He’s always been far more intuitive than Ichigo has ever given him credit for. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Despite all his character flaws, the one thing that can be said about Keigo is that he’s faultlessly, doubtlessly loyal. Ichigo props his cheek on his palm, staring out of the window, pretending not to notice as Keigo chases off yet another person who has Questions about Ichigo’s soulmate. He even tries standing up to Chad, though he doesn’t succeed.

“Ichigo.”

Without turning around to face Chad, Ichigo shakes his head once.

“Aah.”

“See you later,” Ichigo says dully, referring to Xcution.

He sees Chad’s nod reflected in the window pane, sees him walk off.

“Did you understand that?!” Keigo complains bitterly in the background. “I didn’t get any of that at all!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

He’s _said_ before, said it a thousand times, that he doesn’t care about soulmates.

But then, why is there a sinking feeling in his heart?

Ichigo shakes his head violently.

He needs to focus on the _now_ , on getting his shinigami powers back, on finally not feeling powerless for the first time in seventeen months. Everything else – everything else can wait.

After all, it’s not like his soulmate wants him anyway. The last five lifetimes have been proof enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He gets a sword to the back for his trouble.

It hurts.

Being stabbed through hurts.

But it’s not what he focuses on.

“Oyaji, Urahara-san,” Ichigo chokes out. His heart’s tearing into pieces, shredding like the petals of a thousand forget-me-nots. “Is that it? Have your memories been changed too?!”

Urahara’s staring at him blankly, like a puppet with all of its strings cut, but Ichigo has no time to spare for that, not with Ginjō and Tsukishima in front of him and all of his friends’ lives on the line –

He looks down.

“ _Rukia_ ,” he breathes.

The rain slows. Stops.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Ginjō’s down, he’s on his feet.

Urahara and Goat-Face have taken everyone away, and he knows exactly where they’ll be.

“Go,” Renji says from behind him. “We’ll clean up here.”

Ichigo stretches out his hand, feeling his reiatsu unfurl like a newborn butterfly stretching its wings out for the first time, weak and tentative at the start but getting stronger with every passing second. What Renji says is true. Everyone’s already done with their respective fights, and judging by their reiatsu – like familiar lighthouses in a stormy sea – they’re all perfectly fine.

“Thanks,” he says, stepping into shunpo.

This, too, embraces him like an old familiar friend – the wind whipping past his face, the comfortable blur of his surroundings, the faint ache in the balls of his feet as long-unused reiatsu vents begin working again.

Running at human speeds has never felt like this.

He’s at Urahara Shōten before he quite realises it, and Ichigo slows, oddly wistful that it’s already over. Maybe he can borrow Urahara’s training grounds later, do a few laps.

There’s a weird feeling in his chest at the thought of Urahara, but Ichigo chalks it up to all the things he’s left unsaid between them in the heat of the battle. He still needs to thank the blond for inventing a way to give him back his shinigami powers, and for looking out for Karin all these months, and for –

The door slides open with a clack.

Ichigo looks up.

All thoughts of gratitude fly out of his head – all _thoughts_ , in fact, lost in a thundering rush of blood through his ears.

“ _You_ ,” he hears his own voice say, as though from a long way away.

Incongruously, Kisuke wets his lips.

Ichigo can’t breathe.

“Urahara Kisuke,” Kisuke enunciates solemnly, holding out a hand like it’s their first time meeting each other – and it kind of _is_ , and isn’t at the same time.

He does the only thing he can do.

Ichigo slams the door in his face.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He finds himself in front of his house, somehow, with no memory of how he actually got there.

The key won’t fit into the lock.

His hands are shaking. They won’t stop shaking.

How _dare_ that bastard –

At least he never got into the habit of locking his window, between all the shinigami invading his room and his father’s daily morning attacks. It’s an easy jump up to the second storey, balancing himself effortlessly on the ledge with one hand while he shoves the window open.

He’s missed this casual strength too.

The house is too quiet, with Goat-Face and the girls still at Ura- – at the shop. Ichigo sits down on the bed, and then stands up. Walks to his bedroom door, reaches out for the handle, and stops.

He doesn’t sense anything, but _something_ makes him turn around, and he’s not surprised to see Kisuke squatting on the window ledge. Both the hat and the fan are missing, leaving his eyes unshadowed for once.

Ichigo’s always loved his eyes.

“Can we talk?”

The wall’s a lot more interesting than the window right now, with its faded poster of a band Ichigo used to be interested in. He hears they’ve released a new album. Maybe he should check it out.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he tells the wall.

Hmm. The paint’s peeling in that corner of his ceiling. He’ll have to get that fixed.

There’s a rustle of cloth, the sound of clogs on the windowsill, and Ichigo’s suddenly blindingly, seethingly _angry_.

“Get out.”

In three long strides he’s at the window, hauling Kisuke up by the lapels with one arm before the bastard could step through.

“Ichigo,” Kisuke breathes, like a prayer.

Their faces are so close, Ichigo can count the flecks of gold in those grey eyes.

Kisuke swallows.

Ichigo punches him.

The window panes rattle with the amount of force he put into it, as though caught in a high storm, and he fancies he hears one of them crack.

Ichigo turns away from the window without bothering to look down. It’s not like a fall from the second floor will kill a shinigami anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kisuke gets it, he really does, and he can’t even say he’s surprised by the reception. Ichigo has every right to be angry at him, given the way they parted, and the lifetimes they’ve spent apart. He certainly hasn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms.

He just wishes he could _explain_ , could let Ichigo know – he didn’t do it on purpose.


	3. Chapter 3

_“I can’t believe you! Are you with me, or are you against me?”_

_“How could you even ask such a question?”_

_“I don’t know, you tell me? One or two might be a coincidence, but I’ve got six reports from four different people telling me they’ve seen you hanging around the enemy!”_

_Silence._

_“If that’s how little you trust me, then you might as well kill me right now.”_

_“Are you kidding me? There’s no way I can raise a sword against you!”_

_“I’m going to leave. I’m going to leave, before either of us says anything we can’t take back.”_

_His soulmate marched out of the tent._

_The next morning, after a restless night spent tossing and turning alone, a runner came to inform him that his soulmate’s dead body was found._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ichigo wakes in a cold sweat.

It’s far too early, judging by the twilight outside his window, the sleepy hoot of an owl. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, and only then does he realise his window’s still open, but somehow he’s not cold at all.

He looks down, and –

There’s a familiar black haori covering him like a blanket.

Calm is hard to reach, when the memory of the last time he saw his soulmate still haunts the back of his eyelids with every blink, and the anguish burns in his heart like it hadn’t been several centuries since. That bastard must’ve come back, even after Ichigo explicitly told him not to.

Ichigo tries to summon the anger from the night before, but in the dim light of dawn, all he manages are muted embers.

He rips the haori off, his movements quick and jerky, and leans over to shut the window.

Then he pauses.

Looks down.

“I thought I told you to leave.” His voice comes out different, a little uneven, a little more vulnerable than the night before.

“Technically, you told me to ‘get out’ of your room,” Kisuke says tiredly, tipping his head back to see Ichigo. He’s sitting on the lawn under Ichigo’s window, leaning against the wall, drenched in the morning dew like he’s been there the whole night. “This is outside.”

Ichigo inhales.

Exhales.

The haori in his fist smells like sandalwood, and the scent hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s missed it.

He’s missed _him_.

“You have five minutes,” he decides.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s weirdly domestic, cooking breakfast together like nothing’s happened between them, like the last time they’d done so wasn’t before electricity was even invented.

Well, Ichigo’s cooking, because watching Kisuke poke tentatively at the rice cooker gets old after five minutes.

There’s still a stash of furikake in the drawer. That’ll have to do; Ichigo has no idea if the fish in the freezer is meant for dinner, and no desire to incur any more of Yuzu’s wrath.

But Kisuke learns fast too, almost as fast as Ichigo. In the scant moments Ichigo’s taken his eyes off him, Kisuke’s already found the bowls and utensils, and is rooting through the fridge. He produces the pack of miso with a flourish, and attacks the gas stove with the kind of single-minded intensity he normally reserves for his plans.

Something sweet and molten melts in the pit of his belly, and Ichigo has to bite back a smile.

No.

No, he’s going to let Kisuke say his piece, and only _then_ will he decide what he’s going to do.

He loves Kisuke, yes, _still_ loves him despite everything, loves the way they can still move in tandem together after so long, even if it’s for something as simple as preparing breakfast. But it doesn’t erase three hundred years of abandonment, five lifetimes of waiting for someone who never came.

“I was angry and upset,” Kisuke reveals suddenly.

Ichigo put down his chopsticks.

“It was – you were so naïve it was frustrating. Not all the clans under your banner were as loyal to you as they appeared, and I’d received word of assassins but I couldn’t figure out _who_ sent them.” He jerks his head in a minute shake, like he’s reliving the memory. “It was a bad week all around, and then you confronted me.” He looks away. “I thought you would’ve trusted me above all the rumours.”

Ichigo shakes his head too, and sighs.

Fair.

He should have.

“I was upset,” Kisuke repeats. He’s staring intently at the far wall now. “I stormed out of our tent, and I was so dumb – wasn’t paying as much attention as I _should have_ , and the assassins got the jump on me.” He bites his lip, closing his eyes in pain. “I don’t remember much,” he confesses, “just the horse they used to stage it like an accident, and then lying in my own blood until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

Ichigo reaches over and lays his own hand over Kisuke’s.

“I thought you committed suicide because you couldn’t deal with me any more,” he admits, out loud for the first time, and it’s like a massive weight off his shoulders.

Kisuke clutches at his hand like a lifeline.

“ _Never_ ,” he swears.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kisuke almost wants to skip the next lifetime, but he knows he can’t, knows that Ichigo deserves better than half-truths and white lies.

“I died bitter and upset,” he says, and doesn’t meet Ichigo’s eyes. “I didn’t want to see you right after that, so I deliberately manipulated the system. We didn’t meet because I made _sure_ of it.”

He can feel Ichigo trying to pull his hand back, but he refuses to let go.

“Ichigo,” he says desperately. “Ichigo, I’m three hundred and sixty-eight years old.”

He looks up, just in time to see Ichigo blink furiously.

“Your next three lifetimes lasted less than eighty years, total?”

His tone isn’t accusatory. Kisuke takes that as a good thing.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps, like a benediction. He slides out of the chair, dropping onto his knees on the floor. “Ichigo, I swear on Benihime – I never even got to Awaken the last two lifetimes, and ever since the moment I did in this one, I’ve been waiting for this. To get to tell you how sorry I am.”

His vision’s blurring, eyes stinging. Any other time, Kisuke would be horrified that he’s crying, but right now he doesn’t even care. He keeps his head bowed, but his mind conjures up a hundred thousand possible expressions Ichigo could have on his face, racing to analyse what the lengthy pause means.

There’s a scrape of wooden chair legs against linoleum.

“Look at me, Kisuke,” Ichigo orders, far too close.

Helpless but to obey, Kisuke raises his head.

Ichigo waits until his eyes focus, and then deliberately stretches out a hand. “Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says, an introduction he’s made a thousand times before, but none so important as this one.

Kisuke _stares_.

Ichigo isn’t smiling, but his hand doesn’t waver.

If it were anyone else, Kisuke would be wondering if it’s a cruel joke, will be calculating the likelihood of the hand being snatched away right as he reaches out for it, but this is _Ichigo_.

Ichigo’s not a probability, he’s a _certainty_.

His fingers are shaking when he stretches out his own hand, grasping the proffered hand tentatively.

“Urahara Kisuke,” he says, and feels something in his chest _click_ into place at long last.

**Author's Note:**

> [cywscross's UraIchi Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/ADFnKTZ#_=_) | [Starrie's server](https://discord.gg/8yJVmbD) | [Tumblr](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com)


End file.
